


An Unexpected Surprise

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: shoot prompt: it's root's birthday and she thought no one knew or remembered, but she comes back to her apartment and shaw is half naked, waiting in her bed with a smirk on her face</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Surprise

Root walks in the cool night air, heels clicking across the New York City sidewalks. Around her, the streets are mostly empty, only a few late-night wanderers crossing her path. A breeze billows through, sweeping Root’s hair up and about her head, dropping the wavy tendrils around her shoulders playfully once it passes. _I wonder where Sameen is._

Root’s brow furrows, not once seeing her that day.  _‘She accepted a small mission per my request.’_  Root recalls Harold’s words, and the same annoyance that filled her then rises within her once more.  _And I couldn’t come? She couldn’t have at least told me where? Or had on an ear wig?_  Root’s anger dissipates into a sigh as she crosses the street, pulling her business jacket tighter at the waist to keep out the small wisps of cold air as they pull at her clothes and cheeks. All around, street lamps light the night, flashing signs and car headlights making it nearly impossible to see any stars.

 _It would have been nice to hear her voice today_ , Root admits to herself, looking at the towering buildings around her. _Especially considering the day- not that she’d know, of course_. Her day had been nomadic in the grand scheme of things. The woman’s pantsuit she has on reminds her of the ongoing cover she has to maintain: secretary of RMS Computer Corporations. With how boring the job is, it would have been nice to get a laugh from her.  _Not her, really, but me at her flustered expense._

* * *

 

Root smiles at the thought, knowing all too well how annoyed she can make Shaw. Coming to her apartment building’s door, she pushes through and is at once bathed in warmth. The swift transition leaves a faint burning against her skin, but it quickly fades.

 _All in all, another birthday on the shelf_ , Root thinks, deciding to take the stairs to her third floor apartment, needing more time to walk- to think.  _Nothing wonderful, but I kind of like it that way._

She hits the third floor, then takes the few steps to her apartment. When she comes to it, she stops, taking it in suspiciously. The door is almost shut, but the smallest sliver is unaligned, revealing the ragged wood within the door frame.  _Someone’s been in here._  Instantly, Root’s hand reaches back to her waistband, feeling the cold butt of a gun against her fingertips. Taking a quick look left and right down the hall, she tears open the door with eerie silence, withdrawing her weapon, ready to shoot at the slightest movement.

Coming to the kitchen, she takes delicate steps, not wanting her heels to click against the hard, linoleum surface. Her foot takes a slide on something wet, and she grabs the counter to stop her fall. She stops all movement a moment, holding her breath. Nothing changes. However, to both her dismay and excitement, she hears the creaking of a bed spring.  _Got ya._

“Who the  _hell_ are y-” Root flicks the bedroom light on with her left hand, right aimed and ready to go, when she freezes, room now bathed in light.

A figure sits at the edge of her bed. Her stomach is exposed, nothing but a dark brazier on, and black jeans pulled down past her hips. On the floor is a crumpled ball of cloth, Root can only assume it’s a shirt. The woman’s eyes are on her, and what Root perceives to be a smirk holds firm to her face. Root lowers her weapon, flabbergasted.

“S..Sa _meen_?”

_____\ If Your Number’s Up/_____

“What the  _Hell_?!” Root fumes, putting the gun down on the nearest dresser. “If you want to come over, all you have to- to do is  _ask_! Don’t- don’t give me a  _heart_  attack.” Root feels the shake in her voice, knowing that her weak attempt at humor has nothing to that effect. From the bed, Shaw rolls her eyes.

“ _Funny_.”

“Why are you here?” Root asks, not harsh but confused.

“Your apartment was closer.” _What?_  Root thinks, then her eyes travel to where Shaw holds her hands. Root’s eyes widen, seeing a sickeningly deep gash in Shaw’s side. Shaw has a half empty whiskey bottle on the floor and gauze at her side. In her hands are a needle and thick, plastic thread, and her fingers sew through the skin agilely, pulling it back together. Root is frozen- mortified.

“Sorry if your bathroom smells like alcohol,” Shaw tells her casually, not looking up from her work. “Had to clean it somewhe-”

“What  _happened_?” Root demands fretfully, coming over to Shaw’s side. She sits beside her on the bed, watching Shaw as she sews herself up.

“Some lunatic stabbed me when I was working today,” Shaw tells her, voice as if it happens every day. Root looks to her hands angrily, watching as they curl into fists.

“When I  _see_  Harold I-”

“He didn’t tell anyone to  _stab_  me, Root.” Root looks over to see Shaw already taking her in, a small smile emerging on her face as she sees Root’s worry. “Here,” she bends over, stifling a pained groan as she sweeps the bottle from the floor. She hands it over to Root, who takes it numbly, then finishes the stitching.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to calm down,” Shaw tells her, the slightest amusement in her voice. She does another one over on Root. “Think you need it more than me; you look like Hell.”

“Gee,  _thanks_ ,” Root quips back shortly, putting the bottle down, and Shaw laughs in return. The sound brightens Root’s worried spirits, and she smiles at her affectionately. Root looks down at the ground, then sees a bloody shoe print on the carpet, leading up to her. Looking down at her boot, she realizes the liquid she slipped on wasn’t just liquid.

As not to track any more around, Root quickly pulls them off, walking with soft padded socks to the bathroom. The second she opens the door, she is met with the overwhelming stench of alcohol ethanol. Blinking the burning from her eyes, nose cleared through and through, she ditches the heels in the tub before returning to Shaw.

Shaw cuts the string, then wipes the needle off on her pant leg.

“Why were you doing this in the dark?” Root asks her, the questions she had before finally resurfacing in her mind.

“Didn’t want to alarm you when you showed up.”

“You killed that one with the open door.”

“Hard to be perfect when you’re bleeding out,” Shaw counters, a smirk playing on her- now that Root thinks about it- slightly paler face.

“Then what was that smirk for?” Root presses, needing answers but unsure why.

“What smirk?”

“That- that  _smirk_  you gave me when I walked in!”

“I wasn’t  _smirking_ ,” Shaw counters heatedly, putting the scissors, needle, and spool into a plastic baggy before tossing it all to the dresser. “I was  _grimacing_.”

“Grimacing?” Root asks skeptically, and sees Shaw’s ears reddening in annoyance.

“You know, the thing people do after pouring  _ten_  ounces of whiskey in an open  _wound_ ,” Shaw seethes, each word dumbed down with her annoyance. “Gri-ma-cing.”

 _Oh. I hadn’t thought of that._  Root clears her throat, trying to keep the warmth from flooding her cheeks with chagrin thoughts, and brings her eyes anywhere but Shaw’s. They land on the stitch-work on Shaw’s side, and she sees a bubble of crimson well between two threads.

“Here.” Root walks back to her with silent steps, kneeling before her and grabbing the roll of gauze on the bed, unraveling it slightly. Shaw shifts, not fighting Root on this one, and Root moves closer, aligning herself evenly to Shaw. Then, she takes the soft strand and presses it to the stitched up wound, seeing the blood drop soak into the white material. Holding it with the right hand, she takes the roll in her left and loops it around Shaw’s waist, making sure it is tight. Root continues the process a few times over, making sure the gauze is secure, but all the while trying to keep her fingers from quivering. She repeatedly scolds herself for the feeling, but can’t seem to make the anger stick, and she fights off a smile continuously.

Finally finished, Root leans back on her heels, elbows resting on Shaw’s legs, and she looks over the bandaging. Feeling eyes on her, Root looks up, finding Shaw’s dark brown ones incredibly close.  _Has she always been leaning this far over?_  The thought is weak in Root’s head, not much of anything passing through her mind clearly.

Shaw’s eyes are alive in a different sense than Root is used to seeing. They don’t have that same, icy calculation in them; only one thought crossing their path. Her eyes drift down briefly to the bandaging around her waist and a small, half smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks.”

For some reason unbeknownst to Root, the single word sets off a parade of fireworks in her mind, and her heart starts beating erratically. She feels her breath catching and sputtering at the same time, unsure how to breathe. She wants to stand, to back away, but finds her legs limp and useless, even her spine ready to fold in on itself. Her fingers bend in to steady herself, feeling like she might pass out from this feeling, and feels the rough pattern of jeans sliding under her nails.

Shaw looks back to her, and Root finds herself done for.

Shaw brings herself farther forward, resting her forehead on Root’s, the bridges of their noses touching. “I’d blame this on the alcohol,” Shaw tells her in a low voice, nearly a whisper yet echoing like an explosion in Root’s ears, “but uh,” Shaw gives a small exhale of a laugh, her breath sending a tingle racing down Root’s spine. “I didn’t drink any.”

Root smiles, stomach filled with restless butterflies and heart pounding against her ribs, trying to escape. Her thoughts are blank but deafeningly loud, and she tries with all she has to sound calmer than she actually is.

“Me neither.”

Root can feel as the bridge of Shaw’s nose leaves hers, then a second later lips on her own, and she closes her eyes, an explosion of colors erupting before them. Every fiber of her being feels animated, a constant buzz in her system like an electric current surging through her veins.

She snakes her hands up Shaw’s legs, letting them travel up and up until they wrap themselves around the back of her neck, and she pulls herself in closer. She comes off of her heels, becoming taller as she stops at a kneel, every part of her feeling on fire.

Shaw’s hands trail down Root’s front, undoing the single button of her blazer, then easing it off her shoulders, and Root lets it fall to the floor. She feels Shaw’s hands wrap around her waist, and the entire world seems to tilt. Root finds herself being pulled forward as Shaw lays back onto the bed, and a second later the illusion of weightlessness crashes around her. They fall back rather roughly, and Root can’t help the smile that comes to her face.

 _This isn’t the first time that this has happened_ , Root thinks to herself, looking at Shaw as she pulls away slightly, eyes sparked and wild. Each time giving her the same feeling of electricity and excitement, never once loosing its astounding touch. Root holds her breath, all the while feeling the heat of Shaw’s against her.  _And I hope to God it isn’t the last._

_________\ We’ll Find You /________

Root lies on her back, awake, room dark with the moon shining partially through the bedroom window. Looking down, she sees its silvery light pooling on the comforter, each crease giving off looming shadows throughout the bed. In her ear, she can hear the faintest traces of snoring. Shaw’s arm is thrown across Root’s waist, laying on her side with her face in the side of Root’s neck. Root feels her pulse still slicked with gasoline, every breath a spark, setting her on fire all over again. She can’t sleep. She never seems able to sleep with Shaw around like this.  _Not for a long time, at least._

“ _Psst_ , Sweetie,” Root says in a barely audible whisper, not wanting to annoy but needing somewhere for this excess energy to go. “You awake?”

“ _Mhmm_ ,” Shaw’s voice comes back groggily, and Root can’t help a smile.

“You should probably change the dressings,” Root tells her quietly, trying to calculate the time its been since they were put on, but not wanting to roll over to find a clock.

“Maybe later,” Shaw murmurs back.

“Have you checked them at all? What if-”

“I lied,” Shaw tells her in a voice riddled with sleep. “I’m not awake.” Root gives a silent laugh at that.

“I’m  _just_  saying that-”

“ _Root_ ,” Shaw cuts her off once more, this time a playful annoyance in her voice. She kisses Root’s neck, and another dose of electricity shoots into Root’s veins. “Stop talking.”

Root is silent, and a few moments later the faint snoring is back.  _How does she just sleep?_  Root wonders, a small, lopsided smile coming to her face. Root tries to let her muscles relax, to halt the voltage soaring through her veins, and closes her eyes, letting her cheek rest atop Shaw’s head.

The phone rings.

Root hesitates a moment, then sense gets the better of her and she slides away, instantly feeling much colder than before. From her spot on the bed, Shaw groans.

“Hello?” Root answers, sitting up at the edge of the bed.

“Good, you’re awake,” Harold’s voice comes through on the line, coupled with the clicking of a keyboard and the squeak of a dog toy. “I have Mr. Reese and Detective Fusco on the line, there is some important news I have for you all.” Root shifts the phone to her other ear, wedging it between her ear and shoulder, listening in.

“Are you finally going to tell us what you got us up at four in the morning for, Finch?” John asks, although his tone is not annoyed, as if he’d been up anyway, as if it were four p.m. instead of a.m.

“Yes, I just need to call Miss. Shaw, and then we will all be here.” Before Root has time to register the information, she hears a ringing in her ear, the noise you get while waiting for someone to pick up. A moment later, a rambunctious buzzing erupts from the dresser, and a beam of blue light illuminates the dark room. Root freezes, and Shaw sits up straight in bed, hair in disarray as both stair at the contraption. “Is that…” Harold trails off in a haze of confusion.

Root looks over at Shaw, and Shaw back to her.  _‘What do we do?’_  Root mouths. Shaw shrugs her shoulders in return, eyes wandering back to the ringing beast across the room.

“Is Miss. Shaw…  _with_ you?” Harold asks, voice accusatory and suspicious. Root bites her bottom lip.

“Uh… no?”


End file.
